March 14, 1896, J 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
218 
momentum is used up? A pertinent question this. Not 
by muscular energy, certainly. Force is required to 
maintain the momentum, and the only available forceps 
the wind. The bird can circle in still air, but he can cir- 
cle only downward, as ducks do when alighting, to mod- 
erate the force of their rapid fight. 
The wind is no aid to the bird rowing or gliding on 
level wing. He must outspeed it or be will be at its 
mercy. In outspeeding it he becomes conscious of one 
current only, the current generated by his speed, which 
rushes with uniform force under the front edge of his 
wings, and as he outstrips the wind it can have no effect 
on him. If it blows from behind it does not overtake 
him; if it blows from one side the stronger rush under 
the wings from the front deflects it. If it blows from 
ahead at a speed greater than his own it lifts him, but 
uses up his momentum, and he has to dive downward to 
recover it. The bird on level wings can no more be aided 
in flight by the wind than a ship can be aided by its 
awning spread to the breeze. But when the bird is on 
oblique wings he may be compared to a ship with fore 
and aft sails spread. He cannot then sail before the 
wind; but while sailing across it, or in its teeth, he op- 
poses resistance to it, and the immediate resultant of his 
acquired momentum and this resistance is that he would 
be lifted at a tangent if be did not carry the center of his 
gravity well forward. The second result of the wind 
beating under the wings is due to the parabolic curve of 
the concavity under the wings, which being deepest near 
the forward edge — about one-third back — determines the 
pressure forward, no matter what angle it blows from, as 
long as it strikes under the wings. He can sail nearer to 
the wind, deriving aid from it, than a boat can; but when 
the wind comes from aft he turns his back to it, deriving 
no support from it for about one-third of the circle, dur- 
ing which he loses level. The speed of the bird is not 
limited by the speed of the wind, but by the acquired mo- 
mentum. This enables the bird to oppose such resistance 
to the wind, when crossing or facing it, that its force is 
multiplied many fold — in fact by the resistance — so that, 
the shape of the wing determining the pressure forward, 
a very light wind, say five or six miles an hour, is suffi- 
cient to maintain a bird in upward circling flight at a 
speed of twenty-five or thirty miles an hour. At any 
rate, cranes and vultures do circle upward when the wind 
is blowing at not more than five or six miles an hour at 
the surface, but it is true they do not begin to circle near 
the surface, and the current is generally stronger as we 
ascend. The albatross does not attempt sailing flight in 
such fight winds. 
As regards the speed of birds in flight, very few exceed 
forty miles an hour, but ducks and falcons can achieve 
sixty and more. The swoop of some of the falcons on 
half-closed wings i* almost like the flight of a meteor — 
something incalculable. 0. F. Amery. 
turned upon his captors and gave them a battle royal be- 
fore they were able to tie him. He was not a beauty even 
when tied, while before this operation his countenance 
was just a little too open to give much encouragement. 
Anjoccasional vicious swing of his powerful tail seemed 
to indicate that his feelings had been outraged, and his 
eyes scintillated with fury. While the men of the party 
were absent for a few moments a scream from the ladies 
attracted them back, and it was found that the monster 
had succeeded in loosening the rope from his jaws and 
had climbed on to the dashboard of the wagon with the 
intent of feasting upon one of the horses. The rope was 
still secured to his body, however, and be was dragged 
off before doing any damage. His entry into town was 
the signal for a gathering of the curious, who followed 
the wagon to the hotel door, where the guests of the 
Punta G-orda were assembled. This alligator did not seem 
to relish the attention he was receiving, as was to be seen 
from the nervous swings of his tail; unlucky the mortal to 
come within reach of it. In the afternoon he was taken 
outdoors and tethered to a tree, where he manifested his 
displeasure by sundry jumps and evolutions. He is an 
immense beast, in fact the largest caught this season, and 
will be placed in the gator tank in rear of the hotel. H. 
Deer Antlers. 
Lansing, Mich., Feb. 25.— Last week's Forest and 
Stream contained an article giving a description of a pair 
of antlers having twenty-four distinct points. 
Some years ago Mr. Wells, of Saginaw, Mich., the gen- 
tleman who was drowned while duck hunting in Minne- 
sota, had a pair of antlers with thirty-six distinct and 
well-defined points. I am inclined to believe that Mr. 
Mershon, of Saginaw, can give the facts in the case. My 
informant is Mr. Davis, of this city, one of the. old-time 
"Saginaw Crowd." 
Mr. Davis has three beaver in a pond near his house, 
and on Sunday last he witnessed the mating of the 
beavers — quite likely a process seldom or never observed 
before by any man. Any person who is interested in this 
line of natural history can learn full particulars by address- 
ing Mr. Davis. Julian. 
Wild Geese Flying North. 
Watkins^N. Y., March 2.— On Feb. 28, about 3 P. M., 
a flock of wild geese passed over our place (about two 
miles northwest of the village of Watkins); they were 
well bunched up and heading northeast, and keeping up 
a tremendous honking. Is it not rather early for geese in 
this part of the country? S. S. N. 
[On Washington's Birthday we saw a flock of wild 
geese flying north over New York. G.] 
seed trees in unheard-of lands. The careful observer wel- 
comes them in his note book and in a newspaper of field 
sports. This Columbus returns to tell of a fair land, and 
the next year leads to it a band of colonists, and so on, 
till another and richer land is discovered. A man 
shoot'ng into a flock of strange birds has no 
douht given many an exploring party cause for 
never again coming there, the tale of death being 
kept alive in a grewsome myth by the bird magicians, or as 
our darky friends down South would say, by the "Witch 
birds," and effectually deterring other birds of like species 
from visiting it again. Prairie chickens once flew North, 
were in thousands around Duluth, hundreds were 
drowned in Lake Superior, others kept on till in the bar- 
ren lands or plains, an old big burning north of Grand 
Marais, I think, or of lakes west of there, where it is said 
the chickens stayed. A theory of the reason the chickens 
had migrated was that they had been hunted so much by 
market hunters (D, D. Banta, Forest and Stream, 
Vol. XXXIX, p. 443). It was the instinct of self-preser- 
vation tha.t prompted these birds to get up and get to a 
land out of reach of money makers. 
One would naturally suppose that if there ever was an 
instinct in any race of vertebrates it would be love. Par- 
ticularly would one think that the birds love instinctively. 
That a young bird should fall in love would be only 
natural. But instinct is remarkably like knowledge, it is 
scattered most confusingly and unexpectedly in lumps 
and splashes all over, and not the least is the lover's. 
Shadow, an old-time and well-known contributor of the 
Forest and Stream, once put a yearling male pine gros- 
beak into a large breeding cage with a 3 year-old female. 
All went well till along in the spring, when Shadow put a 
kingbird's nest into one corner of the cage "to see what 
they would do." The male glanced at it, then resumed 
bis song. The female looked at it most carefully, inside 
and out, from a distance and close by. Then she went 
over and nestled up alongside the male. He was aston- 
ished and edged away. She chirped low and expressively 
and drew np alongside again. He went for the food dish 
and began to eat. She followed with a plaintive chirp. 
He slid around behind the bath tub. She ruffled up her 
feathers and with a discordant crook went for him and 
everlastingly whipped and pecked him. The poor fellow 
didn't know what to do. Shadow at last took the 
male out of the cage for a week, but no sooner 
was he back than the vixen hit him and knocked 
him a foot. Shadow hit her with a stick and 
she fled out of reach, whereupon the male asserted his 
malehood and whipped her and paid up old scores. They 
found the female dead — she had refused food and drink. 
Soon after one morning, and after languishing a while — 
two or three weeks — the male died too. After the female 
ruffled up her feathers the first time neither bird sang 
again, though they had sung sweetly and long before. It 
was a "marvplous instinct" gone wrong (Vol. XIV., p. 
125, of Forest and Stream), Perhaps if the young bird 
had been in a position to observe the courtship of his 
relatives he might have been different — who knows but 
what he was faithful to a love of his youth? He had 
been captured not long before, in midwinter. 
A young eagle's nest is never so good or perfect a one 
as the mature bird's, and this is true, I am confident, of 
all birds. "Practice makes perfect," and I doubt if a 
pair of captive birds that had never been in any com- 
munication with the experienced birds -would build a 
nest. But so keen is a bird's brain that should it see the 
nest of any bird it would build a nest resembling that 
nest as nearly as possible. It is on record that a robin 
built a nest out of moss instead of mud once, and this in 
the same orchard where another robin was building an 
ordinary mud structure. This robin of the moss nest had 
thought a moss nest better than a mud one or had never 
seen a mud one— had been raised a parasite in another 
kind of bird's moss nest — pboebe's, for instance. 
Much that is ascribed to instinct is due to nothing less 
than thought. When a bird builds a nest long before dis- 
carded by its ancestors (=iee article bv B. Horsford in For- 
est and Stream, Vol. "XIX, , p. 485, telling of canopied 
English sparrow's nest), it did not do so because of a long 
dormant instinct's diction, but because of tradition. 
Thought as genuine as ever a man had, though less in 
volume, is in the heads of birds— the subdued song of a 
catbird at night in its dream proves that. 
Raymond S. Spears. 
BIRD FLIGHTS. 
O. W. Hampton, in bis short paper on this subject in 
Forest and Stream of Feb. 29, has shown himself to be 
a careful observer of facts, and as such deserving of such 
further light as a brother student of the subject can 
throw on this interesting and for the future of aeronau- 
tics very important subject. He has observed that the 
bird steers nimself by his wings, and that in circling 
flight "the under part of his body is partly turned toward 
the circumference of the circle"— in other words, that the 
bird circles on wings spread vertically to the horizon. 
This is in accordance with simple mechanical laws; the 
under surface of the wings being now exposed to lateral 
instead of vertical pressure, the bird is deflected from his 
course in a circle the size of which is determined partly 
by the measure of the angle of incidence, the circle di- 
minishing in size as the angle of incidence increases; 
partly also by the tail, which in circling is no longer 
horizontal, but exposed to lateral pressure also. In this 
position, raising or depressing it aids in steering the bird 
laterally, that is in decreasing or increasing the sweep of 
the circle, precisely as the corresponding movements op- 
erate to raise or depress the fine of flight when the wings 
are horizontal. The circling is the resultant of two 
forces— the required momentum, and the steady lateral 
pressure of the atmosphere. By reversing the angle of 
incidence of the wings at the semicircle, circling flight 
becomes sailing flight, which is available for travel, the 
course being sinuous, If the tail is depressed on this 
flight, the arc of the circle is flat, and the distance trav- 
eled over is not nearly so much in excess of the actual 
distance accomplished as would be the case if the bird 
flew in semicircles. This is the secret of the albatross's 
erratio flight, in which the angle of incidence of the 
wings is reversed at irregular intervals. The bird is 
quartering the water for game, with a side glance at the 
slow sailing ship, which he keeps constantly abreast of, 
while sailing three or four miles to her one. 
But how, asks Mr. Hampton, does a bird rise or even 
maintain his level in circling or sailing fight after his 
Albino Squirrels. 
Belleville, Ont.— Squirrels of unusual colors were 
more numerous than ever before known in this part 
of the country during the past hunting season. 
Mr. Hull Austin and Mr. Joseph Stoneburg shot a piebald 
black squirrel; another party got a fox-colored black 
squirrel, and Mr. James Munro shot a black squirrel with 
a red tail, A black squirrel with a large white patch on 
its breast and another on its back was seen by a reliable 
informant. 
Inclosed are photographs made by Mr. T. W. R. Mc- 
Rae, a amateur, of two albino black squirrels which were 
set up for me by Mr. James Munro. 
One photograph represents the one shot by Mr. Austin. 
Commencing with an almost snow white in the back, its 
color shades down through cream to fawn, of which color 
are its nose, ears, tail, sides and paws, as the photograph 
pretty well indicates, while the shade gradually deepens 
into a rufous brown on the belly. 
The other is pure cream color, the under parts merging 
into a rpd — brown on the belly. This specimen was shot 
by Mr. Wm. Clarke some twelve miles from the city. 
Both of these squirrels are evidently freaks of the black 
squirrel family, their tails being precisely the same in 
form as thosa of the "black," namely, much more round 
and bushy than those of the gray squirrel. Their eyes 
are of the color usual in black squirre's, namely, very 
dark brown or black. Richard S. Bell. 
When the Birds Arrive. 
Geneseo, N. Y., March 6. — The annual spring migra- 
tion of North American birds has already commenced, 
and every lover of outdoor life is anxiously looking for- 
ward for their arrival. We have already noticed in 
Forest and Stream some brief notices of the early ap- 
pearance of some of the birds further South. It occurred 
to us that if the many readers of Forest and Stream 
scattered everywhere over the United States and Canada 
would send brief letters to your journal, it would greatly 
interest its readers to know of the arrival of the more 
prominent species in different localities, and be of great 
value as a record of the extent and movement of the 
spring migrations. Every one is on the lookout for the 
first robin and bluebird, and with what pleasure we greet 
him, as we stop wherever we are, to gladly welcome the 
first harbinger of spring as he comes back to us from his 
winter home. Song Sparrow. 
[We heard a song sparrow in New York city on Sunday, 
March 8.] 
Alligator Hunt at Punta Gorda. 
PUNTA Gorda, Fla., March 4.— A party of the Hotel 
Punta Gorda guests, composed of Mr. and Mrs. W. F. 
Veysey, Mr. and Mrs. L. E. Lovejoy, Mrs. F. H. Abbott 
and Mr. J. H. Concannon, and a guide started out for 
Alligator Creek this morning to capture an alligator and 
bring him in alive. Teams were taken to within a short 
distance of where several alligators were known to have 
their home. The first one espied was too close to the 
creek, into which he disappeared with a splash. A short 
distance further on the shore brought the party to a cave 
which was inhabited. Sundry diggings only served to 
drive the saurian further into his hole, and the men of the 
party proceeded to dig him out. After a little while the 
head of the beast was observed, and soon enough of him 
was uncovered to permit of the introduction of a hook 
fastened to the end of a pole, and he was caught by one 
foot and ignominiously dragged into the light of day. 
That he was a fighter early became evident when he 
"That reminds me." 
Any Other Birds of this Feather? 
Seattle, Wash. — Editor Forest and Stream: I have 
again just read the query by F. A. Mitchell on moose 
calling, and I am pleased to know that there is at least 
one other person who thinks as I do on this question. I 
have not missed a copy of Forest and Stream in ten 
years, and have followed all the discussions of what con- 
stitutes a true sportsman, and stopping the slaughter of 
game, and who constitutes the pot-hunter, etc., and I can 
see only selfishness depicted in every article. Anybody 
knows that there is just as much true sportsmanship in 
shining deer as there is in calling moose. The question 
cannot be argued. 
You talk of the great slaughter of wildfowl going on 
and advertise decoys. To my mind there is not one 
particle of true sportsmanship displayed by a man who 
uses these invented devices to allure the game to destruc- 
tion. The name decoy itself is only suggestive of trickery 
and of its very nature illegal. That poor old imprisoned 
gander that somebody had for an educated decoy seemed 
to be a wonderful acquirement to the paraphernalia of a 
sportsman in the eyes of that writer, in the issue of 
Jan. 18. 
Consistency in the average writer in sportsman's 
journals is away in the background and selfishness crops 
out boldly in every article on these questions, Abolish 
the sale and use of decoys. Fine a man for having them 
in his possession, and you will not have to legislate for 
the protection of the wildfowl. It is just as consistent to 
allure a deer to his death by using the salt lick as it is to 
decoy a flock of mallards with a false duck. In condemn- 
ing the mode of capturing game of one sort, why approve 
the same thing in another kind of game? 
I will stand with Brother Mitchell on the moose calling 
pTfopo3ition, but will he be radical enough to stand by me 
on the decoy question? Who of your many readers will? 
E. E, 
A Specter of the Deep. 
Stockton, Worcester Co., Ind.— A very laughable 
thing occurred here a few weeks ago, an adventure which 
has fixed a joke upon one of our oyster men that I suppose 
he will not escape from this side of his grave. We will 
call him Jack B — , and will say that he was duck hungry, 
so he fixed a morning to go for wildfowl far out on the 
shoals, where he had a blind stuck. When he left the 
shore for his long row there was a soft south wind rip- 
pling the water, the stars were shining, and as yet the 
deep darkness that comes just before dawn had not set- 
tled down. When he got to there he fixed his decoys in 
the most taking way, pushed back into the blind, pulled 
the bushes all in around his boat and stood up. As he 
looked out over his decoys, nodding on the rippling water, 
the far-off honk honk of the geese or the harsh cackle of 
brant came to his ears, and within he felt that peace with 
himself and all the world which in the early morning 
cornea to the happy ducker (it generally goes away before 
night). 
All was well. He slipped a couple of shells in his gun 
and sat down on the bow of the boat, then from one 
pocket took his pipe, from another a plug of hard tobacco 
and his knife, and slowly and cheerfully chipped off the 
tobacco. Chug! What was that? A duck lighting in 
the decoys? He dropped tobacco and knife, picked up his 
gun and peered over the bushes. Not a thing in sight. 
Yes, there wag a heavy swirl in the water just outside hig 
